


my bare-stript heart

by leirskald



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Panic Attacks, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-04-30 02:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14486619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leirskald/pseuds/leirskald
Summary: She’s expecting a merry group of drunk youths as she pulls up to the curb. She’s not expecting, however, a woman in ripped black stockings and a flimsy dress under a faux fur coat.Sooyoung moonlights as an Uber driver, and gets involved with a passenger.





	my bare-stript heart

**Author's Note:**

> TW for physical, sexual, substance abuse & panic attacks
> 
> Highly fictitious work. Don't hesitate to yell at me, if need be.

**My bare-stript heart.**

“I'm only digging holes   
for myself to fall into."

— This Is No Longer About You, Shinji Moon

 

Sooyoung feels okay. Time passes and she spends her days drenched in bouts of loneliness and apathy. Dreams and aspirations and a grotty pair of pointe shoes sitting by the side of her door all feel like a benign tumour. On better days she can fall asleep without having to think at all, dead-tired.

She’s a cashier now, at a supermarket, not too far from where she lives. She moonlights as an Uber driver for extra cash. Everything else falls in between.

Her apartment is extremely modest, making do with what little she has. She gets by, even if it’s just barely, even if the tide is rising and her head’s about to submerge — but she’s okay. Her parents are somewhere declaring her failures and she’s far away in hiding. It’s fine.

*

**New Years’ Day**

Sooyoung spends the countdown to the new year ferrying people around and stuffing plastic bags in the pockets behind the front seats just in case someone urgently needs to hurl. Her hair reeks of lavender air-freshener and she’s bleary-eyed as she navigates through a complicated street.

She’s supposed to pick up a passenger at a club nearby. It’s well past midnight by then; the moon is a grey mocking balloon and there are spurts of fireworks in the far-off sky. Sooyoung feels that there is nothing worth celebrating about growing older. She turns up the volume of the radio. Let last night’s baseball game commentary drone on in the background.

She feels it first before she hears it — the bass and hooligan-like yelling. She’s expecting a merry group of drunk youths as she pulls up to the curb. Because this is the place for it. Ugly neon sign and tucked between two shophouses with only a thin margin of an alley dividing them. She’s not expecting, however, a woman in ripped black stockings and a flimsy dress under a faux fur coat. The woman’s face is flustered red from the cold and she looks small, huddled into one corner of the seat.

Sooyoung’s about to mumble a lame greeting, but their eyes meet for a moment in the rear-view mirror and there’s a bruise blooming at her left cheekbone that Sooyoung’s eyes widen at. The woman glances away just as quickly. Turns her face away to look out the window.

Sooyoung clears her throat and gathers her wits. “Good evening, I’m —”

“Just take me home,” the woman interrupts. Her voice is strangely soft, but startlingly sober. The blue neon touches her face but she shuts her eyes against it like a shameful reminder. Sooyoung thinks she sees moisture glistening at the corners of the woman’s eyes, still unshed.

“Okay,” Sooyoung says.

The drive is silent. Sooyoung attempts to focus on the road ahead of her. The roads are mostly barren but it’s a dangerous time to be driving. For a while it works. Sooyoung’s waiting for a red light to turn green at a junction when she hears a shuddery intake of breath behind.

It’s nothing more than that. Sooyoung doesn’t look — it’s poor form to watch someone crying. No one wants to be seen like that. Sooyoung worries her bottom lip, feeling out of her depth. She turns up the volume of the radio even more, so the commentator’s voice fills the quiet and now they all know that the Kia Tigers beat the LG Twins.

The ride’s more bearable like that. By the time Sooyoung has arrived at her destination, the woman seems more put together than when she got in, even if her makeup is ruined and marred by the purple bruise, and now Sooyoung can see that the seam of her dress is ripped as well. The street is full of affluent houses of red brick and outdoor gardens and gated property, and it’s actually not too far from the supermarket Sooyoung works at.

“I love baseball,” the woman says, pulling a generous note from her expensive wallet. “Thank you.”

“This is way more than your fare,” Sooyoung protests.

“Please,” the woman says. Sooyoung frowns but can’t refuse her. The woman looks utterly tragic and she’s been crying on a supposedly-joyous night. While Sooyoung agrees that a new year is barely a cause for celebration, she doesn’t think one should spend it crying either. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Sooyoung accepts the cash. “All right,” she says, uncertainly.

“Thank you.” The woman smiles. Sooyoung winces and wants to tell her not to, because it’ll pull at the bruised skin and hurt. But of course she won’t. What she will do, instead, is pretend she’s busy on her phone for another pick-up when actually, she’s making sure the woman gets home safely.

It’s too early in the year for tears, Sooyoung thinks. She tries not to think of the woman’s sad, sad eyes throughout the rest of her relatively uneventful night.

*

**January**

“Will that be all?”

Her head hurts listening to the top 40s playing through the supermarket speakers, occasionally punctuated by staff paging for someone. It’s a slow day and she’s nearing the end of her shift. She’s considering a short nap after a shower before heading out again.

“Yes.”

She stops scanning through the groceries and looks up sharply. The woman looks different in the fluorescent lighting — her hair’s blonder than Sooyoung remembers, and her eyes are lighter. They remind Sooyoung of sunlight filtering through brown stained glass, like she's dressed in her Sunday best, seated at the church pews, and waiting to take communion. For some reason that leaves an acrid aftertaste. The woman’s pretty and she’s not crying. Sooyoung’s hand stills over a bag of all-purpose flour.

“Hi,” the woman chirps. She’s dressed warmly today: khaki padded down coat and drawstring sweatpants.

Sooyoung supposes there’s something remotely embarrassing about being recognised as the cashier in the local supermarket. She’s also aware of how silly she looks. Red collared vest that chafes her nape with clashing yellow blouse inside and a badge pinned to her chest that says, ‘Ask me about my day!’

“Hello,” Sooyoung tries.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the woman says, stares at the groceries lining up the counter until Sooyoung remembers to scan them again.

After what happened the last time, Sooyoung is surprised the woman still wants to acknowledge the car ride.

“I work here,” Sooyoung says. Tries not to be curt about it.

“I can tell.”

This time, when the woman hands her more than her total amount, Sooyoung can’t help but feel insulted. She’s trying her best not to glare, so she settles with a face that’s as unfriendly as she can make it. She stares at the outreached hand, knows it’s a note too many.

Sooyoung is starting to think the woman is bad at math.

“That’s too much.”

“Oh,” the woman says. “Keep the change.”

Sooyoung takes the money, counts the change from the register and hands it back, meeting the woman’s eyes all the while. Sooyoung says, “Thank you, but I’m not charity.”

The woman shakes her head, arms laden with plastic bags. She looks horrified, as though the thought of offending anyone is unbearable to her. “That’s not what I — ”

“You’re holding up the line.”

*

Sooyoung gets a call from her sister sometime in the afternoon. She doesn’t answer it. She’d rather work herself to death than listen to her sister begging her to come home again. And she thinks that, maybe, she’s still not over it. She’s not ready. She wouldn’t know what to say even if she answers the call anyway.

Words are clumsy and hurtful and she thinks that’s why she says so little. Other than the fact that there’s really no one to talk to.

Sooyoung takes an Advil for her thunderstorm-like headache.

*

A request pings on her phone and when she looks at it, she’s almost tempted to reject it. She recognises the address. Sees low-rise brick walls that partitions private houses and red eyes and blue neon. But what if —

What if the woman’s crying again? What if she’s wearing clothes that are not warm enough for the unforgiving January winter? What if she’s tapping her foot and waiting urgently for a ride home before someone comes out to find her? And what if someone comes around and decides they like the colour purple on her?

Sooyoung taps at the notification and heads to the club.

*

Sooyoung doesn’t know what to think when a man gets in along with the woman. The car smells like aftershave and cologne. Sooyoung doesn’t know why this annoys her. The man’s grip on the woman’s wrist is far too tight, far too bruising for a delicate thing such as the woman.

He’s handsome, Sooyoung decides between discrete glances. He’s far taller than the woman (and Sooyoung) is, and he has dimples to go with a charming, youthful face. They go well together.

Sooyoung doesn’t care for this prickling feeling at her chest. Doesn’t care for the woman’s attempts to meet eyes through the rear-view mirror, even. Sooyoung’s only hoping that they won’t start necking and heavy petting in her backseat. Or worse.

They’re surprisingly well-behaved throughout the entire drive. The man’s thumb swipes at the back of the woman’s hand between them but they’re both looking out the window as if they can’t bear to look at each other. The tension is thick and Sooyoung can’t wait to drop them off.

The man pays, this time. He tugs his wallet free from his jeans and gives her the exact fee. Sooyoung doesn’t wait around to leave, this time. The man has his arm around the woman’s waist as they walk and Sooyoung ignores this dry heat at the roof of her mouth. Attributes it to working too hard instead.

*

The next time is an accident. Sooyoung accepts the request only because she’s in the vicinity. The woman gets in with freshly manicured nails that’s painted a matte pastel purple. She smells like hair-dye, and when Sooyoung chances a look, the woman is now a brunette.

“I knew it was you the moment I saw the car.”

The car is an outdated model, silver and unassuming. But it’s low maintenance and runs smoothly enough for regular commutes.

Sooyoung can’t understand why the woman just seems to appear everywhere, like mushrooms after rain.

But she greets the woman anyway, even if its only a bland, “Good afternoon.”

The woman’s quiet for most of the ride, which Sooyoung is thankful for, because she has a headache and talking won’t help matters any. But when they’re nearing the woman’s street, she says, “Listen. I’m sorry about the other day, at the supermarket. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Sooyoung grits her teeth. Grips the steering wheel. “It’s okay.”

“No, it was insensitive of me. I didn’t realise it was a big deal,” the woman’s saying.

“Look,” Sooyoung snaps. The headache makes her more antagonistic than she usually is. And this is only made worse by the fact that they’re surrounded by luxurious single-houses, too. “I get that you’re rich and money is no big deal for you. We’re here. Please get out of my car.”

The woman looks hurt. Sooyoung almost regrets it. The woman pays her fare, to the cents, and watches Sooyoung drive away. She doesn’t need to know that Sooyoung has to pull over at a petrol kiosk for a while before she feels okay to drive again.

*

**February**

Her migraines are getting worse. Sooyoung refuses to see a doctor, because not only are they expensive, they’re just going to tell her to take it easy and take time off anyway. Just about anyone could tell her that much for free. Besides, she’ll just sleep it off.

She’s picking someone up from another club nearby when she sees the man at the entrance, looking frustrated. There’s a bouncer ushering him away, looking like a bull in a white polo that pinches at his neck. Not long after, the woman emerges from the entrance, and she’s quickly pulled to the side.

Sooyoung watches them argue as she waits for her passenger. She thinks not to interfere, at first, but then the man has pushed the woman into a wall, and he’s speaking to her with his face pressed close but her face is turned away. Sooyoung is halfway out the door, then, thinking of violets and roses blooming on skin.

She may despise the woman, but no one deserves to be treated like that.

She approaches the pair, resolve steeling when she sees the woman shivering, shoulders quaking. Her anger is calculated, because she is aware of her surroundings and the danger he poses, especially with his ego hurt.

“Excuse me,” she says, loud and clear. The man whips his head to look at her, handsome face soiled by the anger he wears on his face. There’s spittle on his chin and her cheek. He seems not to recognise her. “I’m her Uber. Her ride is here.”

The man’s lips are still curled in anger, but he seems to be dragged back to the present and it’s clear that he wants no more trouble, or evidence of one. He seems to have neglected the fact that Sooyoung should have no idea who or how her passengers look like. He retreats, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his leather jacket, then leaving the woman still frozen against the wall, afraid to move.

Eventually she brings her hands up her shoulders to hold herself. There are bracelets of red and crescent indents of blunt nails at the woman's wrists.

Sooyoung steps forward. “It’s okay,” she assures, hesitates before she reaches for the woman’s hands on either side of her shoulders. “It’s okay. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

When the woman doesn’t flinch away, Sooyoung slowly guides her away from the grimy wall and to her car. Her intended passenger is waiting at Sooyoung’s car, and eyes them both suspiciously, at the woman’s frail shoulders underneath Sooyoung’s fleece jacket and just the pitiful state of her. But she thankfully understands the gravity of the situation once Sooyoung has explained herself and waves them away to find another ride for herself.

Sooyoung cranks up the heating in her car and the volume of her radio. Drives to the address that she now knows by heart. She doesn’t speak. She understands that the woman needs space, needs time to be okay. And she’s willing to give it to her.

Sooyoung puts the gear into neutral upon reaching the woman’s estate. Waits some more.

Finally, the woman says, in a voice that’s scraped raw, “Thank you.”

Sooyoung doesn’t reply, at first, only nodding and staring at the streetlamp ahead.

Then the woman continues: “You didn’t have to do that.”

What _nonsense_. Of course Sooyoung has to. Sooyoung feels around for a discarded receipt and a pen in her glove box and scribbles down her number on it.

“Here,” Sooyoung unbuckles her seatbelt, turns in her seat to give it to her. “This is my number. You call me when you need a ride.”

The woman stares at the slip of paper for a while, then laughs wetly. “Now who’s being too generous? I can’t. I shouldn’t take advantage of your livelihood like that.”

“Well, you’re not. I want you to,” Sooyoung insists, something fierce in her eyes.

“Let me pay you for today, too,” the woman says, reaching for her clutch.

Sooyoung hastily puts her hand on the woman’s. “You can pay me by taking better care of yourself. And calling me when you need a ride.”

There’s little worth or point in arguing with Sooyoung when she looks so resolute about it, and the woman seems to get that. “Okay,” the woman says, at last. “Then at least tell me your name.”

“I’m Sooyoung.”

“Sooyoung,” the woman repeats. It sounds lovely in her mouth. In the same way birdsong is lovely, or listening to an old, familiar song you used to love. There’s something potent about it that Sooyoung can’t place. “I’m Seungwan.”

Sooyoung doesn’t know why she hopes it’s the same for Seungwan when she says her name too.

*

Sooyoung learns several things about Seungwan over the course of a few weeks that Sooyoung lists in her head (not exhaustive):

  1. Seungwan likes to bake.
  2. Seungwan always comes prepared with tissues, wet and dry, because she insists that people who always need it most never seem to have it (this is true).
  3. Seungwan is from Canada and has only just moved back and Sooyoung gets tingles whenever Seungwan speaks English.
  4. Seungwan has a lovely voice.
  5. Seungwan is the kindest and purest person Sooyoung has ever known, even if she only knows a handful of people — it’s enough of a sample space to deduce that much.
  6. Seungwan has an odd fascination with acronyms and pet names: hence the name, 'Sooyoungie'.



And lastly, 7. Seungwan  _always_ deserves better.

*

  
Sooyoung makes it a point not to hang around Seungwan outside of what is necessary. She finds that she has little cause for it, besides the fact that Seungwan is a warm, sunny yellow to her dull greys.

Sooyoung even makes the effort to greet her unsarcastically if they happen to meet at the supermarket, the instances of which grow in frequency.

But sometimes — she sees Seungwan walk with a barely-noticeable limp, or more bruises and once, grooves from a bite that’s too hard to be pleasurable. She says nothing to all of these because she’s only a driver, and sometimes a bit more than a stranger. There’s only so much Sooyoung can do, and she regrets that. Those days, she lets Seungwan call her 'Sooyoungie'.

*

**March**

“You look cute today.”

They’ve replaced the tacky badges with even tackier badges, this time in loud comic sans font that exclaims, SMILE! and photoshopped a shutterstock image of a smiley face underneath it. Sooyoung really needs the job.

Seungwan always helps to unload her groceries from the basket and line them along the belt, for some reason. They move easily together, in some natural harmony. Sooyoung thinks Seungwan has a bright future as a cashier.

Sooyoung sighs and grumbles, “Don’t start.”

“That badge is —”

“Don’t.”

Seungwan merely laughs. “You really should smile more, though.”

“I’ll smile more when my shift is over and I don’t have to wear this stupidly passive-aggressive badge.”

“It’s really not that bad.”

“Unnie.”

Their hands settle on the same box of powdered sugar, the fingers brushing before Sooyoung yanks it away and Seungwan moves on to the next item.

*

Sooyoung’s pulled out of sleep by the incessant vibrations of her phone, which is somewhere on her mattress. She feels blindly for it, then finds it under a pillow by her foot. She answers it immediately.

“Hello?”

There’s brief silence, followed by a meek, “Can you come pick me up?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Sooyoung rubs away the sleep from her eyes. Nods into the phone and glances at the alarm clock on the floor next to her mattress. It’s way too early. Sooyoung hurries to pull on a grey sweater and yesterday’s sweatpants, toeing into her shoes as she goes out the door.

A text comes with the address of some fast-food chain. Sooyoung’s mind is working away at the many possibilities, feeding off her every fears and insecurities and she’s honestly thankful for that because it’s the only thing keeping her awake at the moment as she drives.

She thinks nothing is amiss at first when Seungwan climbs in with a takeaway cup of hot coffee and smelling of grease. “This is yours,” she says, an odd smile on her face as she holds it out in offering.

Sooyoung frowns. Her eyes are most likely swollen (no, they _are_ swollen) and her hair is uncombed and messy and she is sleep-deprived. And Seungwan called her to fetch her from a fast-food joint? Sooyoung won’t begrudge her that, because she did say to call if Seungwan needed a ride, but it’s only that Seungwan rarely ever does. And if she does, it’s only as a last resort.

So to be plucked from sleep and think through every unfavourable scenario (what if Seungwan is hurt? What if she’s with that man again? What if Seungwan — what ifs, what ifs, what ifs) and zip through traffic just to pick Seungwan up from a fast-food joint seems a little aggravating.

“You got me a coffee?”

Seungwan’s fingers fiddle with each other from where they’re wrapped around the Styrofoam cup. She looks ridiculously small in an oversized flannel shirt that’s still insufficient for the chilly weather, as winter begins to give way to spring. “Yeah.”

The car’s still idling in the parking lot. “Why?”

And this is where the fractures begin to become apparent. “Because.” Her voice breaks. “Because everything’s hard and the only thing that makes sense then was for me to call you and buy you a coffee. Because I needed to ask if it’s meant to be this hard. Is it supposed to hurt?”

Sooyoung has an idea of what Seungwan’s almost-incoherent blabbering is about. She softens. But she’s no expert on the matter, either. She stumbles for the right footing, the right words.

“I think,” Sooyoung frankly admits, “that if it hurts, you’re meant to hurt together, not each other.”

Seungwan looks so earnest in the light and the sun is setting and Sooyoung has to start working in about two hours, but Sooyoung would not mind staying there for a while more with Seungwan. It would not be so very bad.

“Also, I don’t drink coffee,” Sooyoung says.

Seungwan laughs. Her hand is impossibly warm as it finds Sooyoung’s on the gear stick. It’s thanks enough.

*

**April**

It’s only in April, when there’s pollen in the air and people are starting to wear skirts and dresses again that Sooyoung falls ill. She oversleeps and almost misses her shift at the supermarket and there’s no Seungwan today, only long lines of faceless people and an even longer line of groceries.

She doesn’t hear from Seungwan that night either. She has to stop at a parking lot to throw up in a plastic bag after having to hold in until her passenger has alighted.

She’s sitting in her car with the windows rolled down and breathing hard through her mouth between mouthfuls of bottled water, when someone raps on the hood of her car. She startles, jumping in her seat and spilling water everywhere. There’s a curse ready on the tip of her tongue for whoever that cheeky little fucker is when she sees the man round the bonnet to the driver’s seat.

“What a coincidence,” he says, “seeing you here.”

He rests his palms on the window sill, bending to lean his weight on them. Sooyoung can see wiry muscles and the flex of his arms.

She hums, tempted to roll up the windows and drive off.

“About that night, I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says, an apologetic smile making its way to his winsome face. Flashes his dimples. “We’re not always like that, you understand. It was only a bad night.”

“You must have many bad nights,” Sooyoung says, flatly.

She doesn’t miss the way his grip turns white-knuckled at the sill. His smile tightening like a puckered scar.

“At any case, I’m not sure what business she has with you, but if she comes running again, please remind her to lock the door as she goes. I’m sick of having to get out of bed just to lock it after her. It’s a hassle, you see.”

“I’m sure.”

Sooyoung feels giddy, her eyes hot. Her hands move on their own, twisting the water bottle until the plastic lets out a protesting crack. He smiles, not oblivious and absolutely relishing the anger, like red-hot coals, in her eyes.

“Thanks,” he adds, just for the sake of it, and slaps a casual palm to the side of her car before walking away, as one would with a friend after a casual talk.

Sooyoung wishes she had saved the bag of vomit to throw in his face. She feels violently sick again, but this time it doesn’t churn deep in her gut like it had before, it’s in her chest, where she’s sure her heart beats. She waits for his back to disappear before she’s slamming an open palm into her steering wheel.

Then she takes a deep breath, tastes bile on her tongue and goes home.

*

Seungwan calls her, not long after. She sounds unsure and sorry over the phone. Sooyoung closes her eyes and rolls onto her back. She rests a hand over her eyes. Feels her skin too hot.

“You weren’t at the supermarket on your shift.” It amuses her a little, that Seungwan would notice what time her shift is. “So I asked around. Does anyone even know where you live?”

Sooyoung just feels tired. “It’s on the records somewhere.”

“But does anyone that’s not a piece of paper know?”

“Anyone who reads that piece of paper would.”

Seungwan raises her voice in worry and frustration at how Sooyoung refuses to take her seriously. “You know what I mean. What if you’re dying and no one knows where you live?”

“I don’t know,” Sooyoung answers truthfully. “I think my neighbours would smell something after a while, though.”

There’s a pregnant pause wherein Sooyoung almost thinks that Seungwan has hung up until she speaks again. “That’s not funny, Sooyoung.”

“I think it is.”

“Where are you?”

“My apartment.”

“Where?”

Sooyoung laughs. “Why? Are you coming?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Takes for what?”

“To show you someone cares and that you should stop acting like no one does.”

*

It’s the most peculiar sensation, to have Seungwan at her doorstep with takeaway containers of porridge and soup. It’s almost as peculiar as hearing her doorbell ring. She had no idea that it still worked.

Seungwan must not know about Sooyoung’s encounter with the man, then. Or the tender flesh that runs from the joint of her pinky finger her wrist. Or the disabled horn system in her car.

Seungwan says little about the dismal state of her apartment. She only moves to the kitchen to prepare the food, asking over her shoulder, “Have you eaten? I’m betting you haven’t.”

Watching Seungwan’s back, Sooyoung wonders how she’d gotten there, in the sparse, under-utilised kitchenette of her apartment that only consists of a sink, two stove-tops and a mini-fridge. Sooyoung can’t help the anger curdling in her and it’s rising fast to the surface.

“Seungwan unnie,” she calls.

“Don’t tell me to leave,” Seungwan returns, not even turning.

“Who is that man to you?”

Seungwan’s hands pause briefly as she’s peeling open the lids of the containers. Seungwan calmly continues, “We’re together.”

“What does that mean?”

Maybe Sooyoung just needs to hear it, to be sure. There are lot of ways people can be together.

“It means we’re together.”

“Do you live together? Sleep in the same bed?”

Seungwan retrieves a bowl Sooyoung doesn’t know she has from an overhead cabinet. “Yes.”

And just like the worn shoes at her door, and her refusal to go home to her family, she shuts a lid tightly over this, too. She goes back to lie down on her mattress, wheezing a little as she goes.

Sooyoung closes her eyes and feels like she’s on the losing end of something. That she’d been given the shorter end of the stick, somewhat. Seungwan’s concerned gaze only confirms it.

*

**May**

Sooyoung wonders, at times, what life would be if she had been successful. Would she be happy? It’d be something to be proud of, definitely, but would she be okay with that version of herself that’s used to glossy surfaces and empty words? Why is it so hard to be alive?

It’s a struggle every goddamned day.

Spring comes like a wounded bird at the window — unannounced and pesky.

She makes a call, but Seulgi is too busy being talented and famous for her embittered self and honestly? Sooyoung thinks it best that she lets the call go to voicemail.

*

**June**

The days are getting hotter and longer. Sooyoung grows continually resentful at the weather patterns, at the restless, unloved quality sitting in her apartment like a fat cat, at Seungwan, at anything, really.

Seungwan apparently attends university, and is on some scholarship because she’s that accomplished. Whereas Sooyoung mans the cashier and becomes some glorified chauffeur (really, it’s not all that great). She doesn’t even see Seungwan that much nowadays. The heat brings about a new intensity to her headaches.

Sooyoung sleeps more than she’s ever slept. The shoes are still untouched by the door, mocking like an old scar.

*

“Sooyoungie.”

“Unnie?”

“Please,” Seungwan sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. “Come pick me up?”

Sooyoung grabs her keys. “I’m on my way.”

Seungwan’s clothes are ripped and torn and there are bites and bruises and even some blood when Sooyoung comes to get her. Sooyoung takes all of this in with hard, cold eyes and a clenched jaw. She’s all simmering, blistering rage in a tin can. Wordlessly, Sooyoung sheds her cardigan to drape over Seungwan’s painful-looking shoulders, buckles up her seatbelt for her. Does anything so her hands would have something to do. They might tremble otherwise.

Seungwan’s watching her closely. But it’s only halfway into the drive back to Sooyoung’s apartment that she says, “Where are we going?”

“My apartment.”

“Are you angry?”

Sooyoung doesn’t bother with a reply, thinking it obvious enough from the rigid set of her shoulders to the fingernails gouging into the rubber grip of the steering wheel. If Seungwan is as smart as she seems to be, she won’t need an answer.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Seungwan whispers.

The silence eats them up. Sooyoung frees one hand to rub at her temples. Seungwan bites her already ragged lips. They’re both not where they should be, and it’s never been anymore painfully obvious.

Sooyoung holds Seungwan’s hand up the flights of stairs, takes Seungwan to her mattress, rubs ointment into the sores and aches. Wonders if there’ll be any left for herself.

“Is there anyone you can call?”

Seungwan shakes her head.

“You’re sleeping here tonight,” Sooyoung tells her. “I’m not letting him anywhere near you.”

“What if he finds us?” Seungwan looks up at her, afraid and so breathtakingly beautiful.

“No one cares enough to know where I live,” Sooyoung answers.

Seungwan tugs at Sooyoung’s fingers until she lies down next to her. Even the hardest of rocks erode at the touch of water. Laces their fingers together. Seungwan cries into Sooyoung’s damp neck. Sooyoung holds her close, because at least this way, no one’ll have to see Seungwan cry.

“You’re wrong, Sooyoungie.”

Sooyoung is not a hero. She’s too sharp, too bitter and too self-serving for any of that good-willed nonsense. Seungwan could be, if she tried. If she saved herself. Sooyoung doesn’t know how. Sooyoung is not a hero and that saddens her most.

*

**July**

When Seungwan first kisses her, it doesn’t feel right. Sooyoung is too stunted, Seungwan too eager to prove a point. When Seungwan first kisses her, Sooyoung tastes sour wine on Seungwan’s breath. They don’t kiss again after that.

Sooyoung’s two hands aren’t enough for Seungwan’s messy feelings. Seungwan’s like a rushing river, always headed downstream, always chipping at and taking pieces of Sooyoung as she goes. It’s inevitable, really, that Sooyoung should run into her own share of trouble.

"Sooyoungie?"

"Hm?" then, "Don't call me that."

“What did you do, before?” Seungwan asks, instead playing with fingers, tracing the line of Sooyoung’s jaw in a quiet moment of rest.

“What do you mean before?”

“You look and behave like you’ve got a tragic backstory.” At Sooyoung’s withering glare, Seungwan swiftly adds, “No offense.”

“I don’t. You’re being dramatic.”

“What about those ballet shoes at the door?” Seungwan probes.

“What about them?”

“Did you do ballet, once?”

Sooyoung turns away, trying to sleep. Seungwan follows, pressing herself flush to Sooyoung’s back, clinging with desperate arms. She noses the space between Sooyoung’s shoulder blades.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” answers Sooyoung, quietly. “I wasn’t good enough.”

“So why did you stop?”

“I was at the end and I wasn’t good enough.”

“There’s more than one ending, you know?”

“Not at that time, there wasn’t.”

“Well what about now?”

“No point in opening old wounds.”

“Sometimes you have to. Broken bones don’t heal right sometimes, you know. You’ve got to rebreak and reset them.”

“Unnie,” Sooyoung says, commanding and sharp to let Seungwan know that the conversation is over. “I’d rather break my bones than dance again.”

*

“Why won’t you leave him?”

The question leaves Sooyoung’s mouth like an afterthought. She’s making a right turn into the parking lot of a family restaurant with Seungwan in tow. It surprises Seungwan herself. The drive had been a long stretch of silence, so when Sooyoung finally speaks, Seungwan knows it’s the furthest thing from an afterthought.

“Why won’t you throw away your shoes?” Seungwan doesn’t answer unkindly, but it’s a sensitive matter all the same and Sooyoung keeps quiet at that as she cuts the ignition.

This deep in the evening, there are wine-purple bands that layer over the horizon, and utility poles bisecting it. They eat rice-cakes together, dipped in vinegary-and-sweet chili sauce. Neither of them talks about it.

Seungwan isn’t much of a conversationalist today. The questions have set them back some. So Sooyoung makes an effort.

"I wish you'd stop calling me 'Sooyoungie'."

Seungwan's smile is more a smirk. "Why? Scared it'll ruin your street cred?"

Sooyoung says nothing. Refuses to be baited.

Pain is easy enough to accept. Live with it long enough and you’ll never know it’s there. And there’s a kind of pain carried by them both, different but the same. Sooyoung glances at Seungwan’s hand on the table, fingernails grown long enough to see pink nailbeds where nail polish no longer reaches.

So why does it feel like there should be something more?

*

Here’s a thought worth entertaining:

It falls into something just a little short of domesticity, after. Sooyoung either brings home fresh produce or take-out, and Seungwan greets her at the door with a smile that shouldn’t be so easy, given the circumstances.

Seungwan’s barefooted and casually dressed in an oversized white Henley and cuffed jean shorts, and she knows where the sugar and salt is. Knows that there’s expired hand lotion hidden somewhere in the mirrored bathroom cabinet that Sooyoung can’t seem to get rid of, for some reason. Says hello to scandalised neighbours. Feeds leftovers to stray cats despite Sooyoung telling her not to because they’ll just come back.

“I’m allergic.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I have cat fur all over me and your ‘allergy’ isn’t acting up.”

“My throat’s closing up now.”

“Is it really?” Seungwan fixes Sooyoung with a look she can’t lie to.

Sooyoung relents, “No, but I’m allergic, okay.”

“I saw you jump the other day when a cat brushed up against your leg.”

Sooyoung is silent for a time, then she says, sternly, “Don’t encourage them.”

Seungwan grins. Sooyoung grumbles all morning long but there’s no heart to it, no heat. One day she brings home a bag of cat food, to Seungwan’s delight.

*

Here's another thought:

Seungwan pads around the poor excuse of an apartment and Sooyoung’s eyes can’t help but follow her every sway, every swoon. Seungwan sleep-soft and drowsy, and sunlight drips from her ratty threadbare t-shirt. Seungwan whining about school. Seungwan snoring into Sooyoung’s shoulder at night. That, and rushing sighs of _sooyoungie, sooyoungie, sooyoungie_. To which Sooyoung admits that she's grown a tolerance for.

Sooyoung imagines a coffee machine and an oven in her kitchen. Imagines a place filled with Seungwan and her little fancies. Decides it’s not so bad after all.

But it’s never just about wanting.

So it’s a shame, Sooyoung dares to think, that Seungwan does not belong. Because it’s only an apartment, but with Seungwan, it’s so easily a home — Sooyoung swallows down the thought. Chases it with two pills and water. Because that’s the easiest way to forget.

And without the clarity of light, Sooyoung feels strange things as they lie together on the mattress. Close enough for every breath to tickle the crown of Seungwan’s head, and Seungwan’s breaths to warm Sooyoung’s throat.

Seungwan’s eyes are almost liquid in the near-darkness of the room. The heat of Seungwan’s stare finds Sooyoung, and in the next moment, they lock eyes. Her voice is low and almost too loud for the silence. She wets her lips before speaking so Sooyoung can hear how her lips part and come together.

“Sooyoungie. Why are you being so good to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Most people don’t want to get involved. Too personal,” Seungwan says. Her voice slows to a hushed murmur. “People see other people and don’t expect to see scars, or bruises.” Seungwan is quiet for a while, pensive. “Why’s that, do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think everyone’s busy with their own pain. I think they don’t like seeing things that they can’t do anything about.”

“That’s…very optimistic.”

Seungwan scoffs, but she’s smiling. “Okay, what do you think then?”

“I think,” Sooyoung says, “people are scared.”

“Scared? Of what? People in pain?”

“No — yes,” Sooyoung stumbles. The night mocks her. She feels cut open, oddly vulnerable, and Seungwan can see the white of her bones. She tries again, slowly. “I think people don’t want to get involved because they don’t want someone else’s pain to contaminate their happiness. And that’s fair; people will protect what’s theirs.”

Seungwan hums in response. Then says, “But not you though. Why?”

There’s little point in lying. So Sooyoung tells her, “Because you deserve better.”

“So this is you trying to be better?”

Sooyoung’s quick to deny it. “No. I’m just — I’m not trying to be better, for anyone.”

Seungwan smiles, but it’s sad and disappointed. She doesn’t pull away, but Sooyoung can feel that she’s about to. “So no one’s good enough?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. There’s someone good enough for you. You just shouldn’t settle for anything less,” Sooyoung says, more hastily than she likes. Her words lack their desired effect — they feel like cold, wet fish slipping out of her grasping hands.

“But how could you know what’s good enough for me?”

Sooyoung frowns. Thinks that this is a conversation that’s better left for another time, when Seungwan isn’t pressed close and looking at her like that. Her hand moves on its own, intending to prove something. “I don’t,” Sooyoung says. Her fingers find the yellowing bruise on her upper arm, under her sleeve, without having to look. Seungwan flinches, and Sooyoung removes her fingers from Seungwan’s skin immediately. “But you could have someone who’d make you happy. Someone who’d be good to you. Someone who doesn’t hurt you.”

Seungwan says nothing, so Sooyoung turns onto her back, facing the ceiling for a brief respite from Seungwan’s coffee-dark stare. Still, she feels Seungwan’s eyes on her, at the curve of her jaw, roving about the side of her face. It’s the most she’s said in a long while, and it exhausts her, but it needs to be said.

“ _You_ make me happy, Sooyoungie."

The confession is quiet and timid and everything Sooyoung fears, delayed long enough for Sooyoung to suspect there’s nothing more to be said. She’s ready to leave it at that, if need be.

“I,” Sooyoung starts. Feels distinctly raw about it. “I’m not in a place to be anything like that, for you.”

Seungwan blinks. Maybe hurt pools in her eyes and glistens. Maybe her face gives nothing else away. Because for all that Seungwan wears her heart on her sleeve, she’s surprisingly cryptic when she wants to be. Maybe all it takes is a second for her to recover. Sooyoung doesn’t know these things, and she thinks that it’s best she doesn’t.

Sooyoung adds, lightly, “So quit looking at me like that.”

The moment’s over. Sooyoung knows that when Seungwan chuckles and draws away. Sooyoung lies awake for hours and barely gets a wink of sleep before the sun’s up and she’s out the door before Seungwan could wake.

The migraine that’s sure to follow is bad enough for her manager to worry, and actually grant her a longer lunch break that Sooyoung spends in the restroom, retching over a toilet bowl. Sooyoung feels like it’s a pretty light sentence in comparison.

*

The day eventually ends and Sooyoung returns to her apartment expecting it to be empty. But Seungwan’s there, frying eggs in a pan. She’s been busy, looks like, with the unwashed wok in the sink Sooyoung knows doesn’t belong to her and the disarray of discarded ingredients that didn’t make the cut along the narrow strip of her counter. There’s suddenly an assortment of kitchen utensils hanging from a newly-installed wall-mounted hook rack, and a chopping board.

Sooyoung glares at the lot of them; feels like an intrusion of personal space. Like an unwanted intervention.

Seungwan turns her head to greet Sooyoung with a smile. “Hi, you. How d’you like your eggs? Sunny-side up?”

There’s an apron tied around her waist, too. And if Sooyoung peeks round the corner, there’s a shelving unit pushed to the wall next to her mattress. Sooyoung presses fingers into her temple.

“Seungwan unnie.”

“Hmm?”

Sooyoung demands, “What is all this?”

Seungwan turns off the gas, transfers the eggs onto a plate. Takes her time to answer. It leaves Sooyoung impatient and fuming at the end her long wait. “They say your home is a reflection of yourself. Home décor, cleanliness, furniture alignment — it all means something, you know? And your apartment’s so empty, and I thought that it’s so wrong. Because you’re the furthest thing from empty.”

As she speaks, she reaches out to briefly touch a yellow post-it pasted on the fridge door that says: “HAVE A GOOD DAY TODAY!”

“So I hope you don’t mind?” Seungwan’s smile is uncertain. Sooyoung doesn’t know what to make of it.

Sooyoung takes a deep breath. Her headache’s growing worse. She needs time to think, time to process — needs to be away before pain makes something of her that she doesn’t like. “What —,” she starts, then stops. “Just what are you trying to prove?”

Pain makes her abrasive, confrontational. She’s trying not to bristle but she’s doing a poor job of it. Seungwan frowns. “I—”

“What’s the point of telling me that?” Sooyoung doesn’t raise her voice, but her hand’s trembling so she presses it into her thigh.

“Because it’s true.”

They’re at some tipping point; a tripwire snaps underfoot. They’re both caught unaware and suddenly there’s a sheer drop just several feet away.

Seungwan seems to feel it too. She’s emboldened by it, even, because she’s suddenly taking swift strides to plant herself squarely before Sooyoung. “If you think you have the right to tell me I deserve better, then I do too. You’re not a failure. You’re good enough, Sooyoung.”

Sooyoung doesn’t back down, snarls, “You don’t know me.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know you well enough to know that you won’t even leave the man who only knows how to hurt you.” _so what does that say about you?_

The words are uncalled for, cruel and petty. From the way Seungwan’s eyes widen, Sooyoung knows her words had struck true. Sooyoung’s faintly aware she might not be forgiven for this, but her pain has carried her this far.

Seungwan’s eyes are damp. She blinks moisture away, and wipes whatever that’s left with shaky fingers. She tries to be discreet about it, turning her back and returning to the kitchen counter to finish preparing dinner. Sooyoung falters, her jaw clenching. There’s something to be learnt from this — and Sooyoung doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at how well she’d sent the message across.

She doesn’t deserve Seungwan, that much is obvious. She has little to give, because most of it she needs for herself. And even then it’s barely enough.

She brings a palm to her forehead, pushes back baby hairs. Her breaths are heavy with effort. She doesn’t know why, either, but she still tries, “Unnie.”

“Let’s just eat,” Seungwan says instead. Lays out plates and bowls on the floor. Her tone hints that she won’t tolerate anything else, so Sooyoung joins her on the floor, sitting cross-legged.

How did it go wrong, so fast?

*

This time, Sooyoung wakes up alone. She takes some painkillers, goes back to sleep and wakes up later for her shift. Doesn’t spare a glance to the offending post-it. Doesn’t throw it out, either.

*

**August**

Sooyoung’s scanning and bagging groceries at the supermarket, when she hears: “Ah, so this is your other job.”

Her head snaps up at the condescending voice. Her mouth’s already set in a snarl, though she says nothing to his jibe. The man smiles, flashes dimples. That’s his only provocation. He pays for his goods and leaves, because there’s no honour in kicking someone who’s already down. And he’s above that, anyway.

In fact, it only serves to infuriate Sooyoung more, and soon she’s abandoning her counter to chase after the man. She follows him to the parking lot, where he’s loading plastic bags into the trunk of his car. She sees red, hears only her own distant breaths as she slugs him in the cheek when he turns to address her presence.

Hands are on her shoulders, yanking her away. He puts a hand to his split lip, and Sooyoung feels some sick satisfaction that his handsome face will bruise like an overripe peach in the morning. It feels good, even if her knuckles are sore and throb for the rest of the week. Even if she’s in the manager’s office being told that the she’s lucky the man refuses to press charges. Even if she’s being laid off. It feels good. It’s worth it.

*

She mopes at home, applies cream to her inflamed knuckles to soothe them. She startles when her phone vibrates on the floor next to the mattress. She’s not hoping, but she does anyway, and of course it’s not Seungwan. Why would it be?

She chucks her phone against the wall. Watches it break apart and fall onto the floor in several pieces. She tries to sleep, but there’s only hot anger and a growing din inside her head that makes her viciously strip the mattress of its bedding. And finally, spent from the effort, lies back down onto the naked mattress.

*

August passes by like that — in violent spurts and fits that even painkillers cannot dull over. Everything’s brought to the brink of acuteness, and Sooyoung doesn’t think she should feel like this, doesn’t think she should behave like this.

*

**September**

The cooler days make for a more sober and stable Sooyoung. The anger’s more subdued, more muted, and more directed towards self-loathing. Sooyoung finds herself a new job at the gas station and works long, odd hours. Everything’ll flatline, eventually. Till then, Sooyoung will simply work so her hands will tire to the point of mindless fatigue.

She still picks up passengers, now and then, but those are few and far in between. Considers getting rid of the car. But then she’ll think of selling her flat, and everything else that comes with it; give away things that can’t be sold. But it’s too much of a hassle, and there must be easier ways to solve that.

*

**October**

But then —

Seungwan has purple hair now, and honestly, despite how outrageous the colour, it suits her. It’s close to three in the morning, and Sooyoung feels her heart palpitate because she hasn’t seen or heard from Seungwan for months and now she’s here picking out gummy bears in the confectionery aisle.

She looks good. Healthy. She looks fuller and Sooyoung figures life must be working well in her favour. That’s fair.

Sooyoung waits. Doesn’t move because she’s held fast by Seungwan’s sudden appearance anyway. Seungwan’s face shifts from careful contemplation to surprise when she approaches the counter. She’s dressed in a comfy-looking sweater under an army surplus jacket and leggings. Sooyoung catches herself before any feelings could leak to the surface, holds out her hand to gesture to the packets of gummy bears in Seungwan’s hand.

The air’s thick and tense. Sooyoung recounts the total amount, accepts the cash and hands back the change.

“Will you need a bag for that?”

Sooyoung thinks she’s doing well until Seungwan says, “Sooyoungie.”

Sooyoung keeps her head bowed, her eyes averted. It’s something awfully close to shame, and guilt. And a bunch of other emotions Sooyoung had managed to keep a tight leash on. Until now. She gnashes her teeth together.

Seungwan’s voice is soft and gentle when she jests, “You look terrible.”

“Is that everything?” Sooyoung says instead.

“No,” Seungwan stubbornly insists. And her voice is so close, so suddenly. “Why won’t you look at me?”

Sooyoung jolts at the unsolicited touch to her cheek, cupping her face. “You lost a lot of weight,” Seungwan notes, sadly.

Sooyoung indulges in the touch for a second, before she recoils away. Steps back so Seungwan’s hand grasps air instead. “I’m fine.”

Seungwan frowns disapprovingly. Retracts her hand to her side. “I tried to call you. Did you disconnect the number?”

She tried to call?

“No, I — my phone broke.”

“Oh.”

There’s a brief moment of silence.

Then, “I heard about what you did. At the supermarket.”

Sooyoung winces, but makes no move to explain or defend herself. What’s done is done. She isn’t particularly proud of her temporary lapse in judgement, either. Nor does she regret it.

Seungwan’s looking intently at Sooyoung’s face, perhaps for any residual remorse or penitence. But after a while she chuckles warmly, amused. “Really? You’re not even going to say anything for yourself?”

“No,” Sooyoung answers. “I think it was well-deserved.”

Seungwan fixes her with a tender look. She tilts her head to the side. “Was it?”

“What do you want? An apology?”

“No, Sooyoung,” Seungwan smiles. “I just want you to be okay.”

It sure sounds a whole lot like moving on.

“I’m fine,” Sooyoung lamely repeats. Her mind’s made up about it.

Seungwan resigns with a huff, but there’s something more in her eyes that needs to be said aloud. Sooyoung tries to look for bruises, scabs, scratches, anything — but she’s too distracted, and Seungwan’s sweater covers them up well, if there should be any.

Sooyoung must know. She swallows. What if her incident at the supermarket months ago led him to —

“Does he — is he —” but she feels as though she’d lost the right to know, so she trails off.

But Seungwan tells her, anyway. “No. He doesn’t,” she says. And that itself is enough to lift the oppressive weight sitting on Sooyoung’s chest since their first encounter. “Not anymore.”

Sooyoung’s nodding. “Good. That’s good.”

Seungwan’s smile broadens. She collects her gummy bears and leaves, but not before resting a hand over Sooyoung’s knuckles. “I’ll see you around, Sooyoungie.”

Something feels mended, inside.

*

Seungwan comes by more often, after. Sooyoung considers switching shifts, and does, for a night. Only to find Seungwan looking cross and upset when she comes in the following night.

She approaches the counter empty-handed and demands, “If you wanted to avoid me, you should have just told me.”

Sooyoung blinks in surprise. She hadn’t expected Seungwan to be so direct about it, nor so demanding. But then Seungwan just looks hurt and Sooyoung regrets it, now.

“I — I’m sorry?”

Seungwan looks like she hadn’t expected Sooyoung to yield so quickly, either. Her expression breaks into something milder, settles into something just shy of exasperation. But it’s watered down by weariness.

“So do you?”

“Do I?”

Seungwan frowns, impatient at how dense Sooyoung’s purposely being. “Want to avoid me?”

“Why would I want to?”

“I don’t know!” Seungwan cries. Sooyoung glances nervously about, and is relieved to see that the store is relatively empty, aside from the other patron there, a helmeted motorcyclist, who quickly exits the store upon hearing Seungwan’s outburst.

Seungwan isn’t crying, though Sooyoung can tell she’s about to from her harsh breaths and her quivering mouth. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you won’t see me anymore?”

“What even — you left!”

“Only because you wanted me to!”

“I never told you to!”

“You didn’t have to,” Seungwan says, suddenly quiet.

It’s too sharp a turn and if Sooyoung speaks, she’s sure her voice would be half a shout. Everything’s unravelling and coming loose too fast, like bubbles breaking the skin of water. Instead, her mouth opens and closes and she grips at the collar of her shirt, feeling it suddenly too tight, like a noose. She tugs uncomfortably at the coarse fabric. Her skin feels too hot for the rest of her. Her breaths can’t — don’t catch up. This will kill her, she knows it, and she can’t do anything about it. Seungwan will watch her helplessly and pathetically suffocate.

Seungwan frowns. “Sooyoung?”

Sooyoung braces her hands against the counter. Her pulse is rabbiting underneath her skin. She bows her head; she doesn’t want Seungwan to see her this way, not when there’s cold sweat on her face and she’s red from breathlessness and fear.

“Hey, you need to breathe, okay,” she hears Seungwan gently say. It must be Seungwan, because it sounds an awful lot like her. But Sooyoung can’t be sure. She’s not sure of anything — the floor is shifting like sand underneath her feet. She needs to hold onto the counter to steady herself. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

Sooyoung shakes her head. Because no, she can’t breathe, that’s exactly the point. But she tries, because it sounds like Seungwan, and she’d do almost anything for Seungwan if she asked.

“I’m going to be right here. I’m here, okay? I’m not leaving you. Here, you want to hold my hand — no? That’s okay. But I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

At Sooyoung’s concessionary nod, Seungwan’s hand, warm and solid, settles on Sooyoung’s, fingers curling to grip her tightly-clenched hand. “You’ll be okay. You’re doing just fine. I petted a cat on the way here. Shit, I think you really might be allergic,” Seungwan laughs, trying at something else. “I thought you were scared of them all along.”

“No,” Sooyoung protests, once she has had enough air herself. “I’m — not!”

“Okay, Sooyoungie,” Seungwan says. She doesn’t let go of Sooyoung’s hand, not even when Sooyoung finally looks up and sees that Seungwan’s eyes are kind and full of understanding. “I believe you.”

*

Her manager makes her take a break, and now they — Sooyoung and Seungwan — sit outside on a curb. Seungwan hasn’t let go, so their hands are intertwined between them. Sooyoung doesn’t have it in her to let go, because Seungwan’s holding on so tightly and also because she needs this, too.

The night air is cool and breezy as it seeps through Sooyoung’s shirt, past the army surplus jacket Seungwan had forcibly lent her. She turns her head, uses her free hand to rub at her nape.

Seungwan speaks first, wistful and quietly sad. “Do you remember when I asked you why you helped me?”

Sooyoung doesn’t really want to talk about this. But she replies, a little grudgingly, “Yes.”

“And you said that people wanted to protect their own happiness?”

“Yes.”

Seungwan’s shoulder brushes up against hers. “Did you think you helped me because you weren’t happy, before? And therefore had nothing to lose?”

Sooyoung denies it briskly; she can’t help but slip into a defensive veneer. “No.”

“Then why?”

Sooyoung inhales deeply. Smells rancid petrol and rubber tyres. “I already told you before —”

“Yes, but that’s not all, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Sooyoung admits hoarsely, frankly.

Seungwan is silent, long enough for Sooyoung to look over to see why. Seungwan is watching her, there’s a look in Seungwan’s eyes that makes her feel uncomfortable, left bare and naked until all Sooyoung can say is the truth.

“I shouldn’t want you so badly,” Sooyoung says, her voice like splintering wood. “It’s not — it’s not right of me.”

Seungwan brings her legs to her chest, rests her cheek against one knee. “Why isn’t it right?”

“Because — because — you saw what happened to me in there. I can’t function without painkillers, and I’m always angry and bitter. I haven’t spoken to my family in a year. I’m scared I might hurt you again. I don’t — I’m not for you, okay?”

Sooyoung’s eyes are hot and wet, and she turns away so Seungwan won’t see the mess she is. But she feels Seungwan scooting closer — she doesn’t know how close — until she feels Seungwan’s breath at her ear, almost burning in the chilly night.

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide,” Seungwan says. Presses a kiss to Sooyoung’s ear, behind it, under it. Sooyoung shivers. It’s all sacred to Seungwan, and now she’s brave enough to proclaim it so. “As for the others, you're more than the sum of your parts. I'll help you. I did say I’ll be right here, after all.”

Sooyoung feels so thinly stretched and so tired. She feels like she must drop these heavy bags she’d been lugging with her all along. She turns her head and sees Seungwan so closely by, so she kisses her. It’s nothing like the first time; it’s sweeter, unmarred by desperation or any feelings of unworthiness; a gentle exploration of two souls rather than bodies. It’s as easy as falling asleep, and even lovelier still. And then Seungwan sighs _sooyoungie_ into her mouth, and, _oh_. Why hadn't they done this sooner?

It’s still dark out, the sun still buried beneath the horizon. When they part from each other, it feels like a renewal, somewhat. Seungwan tastes like coffee, bitter and yet still honey-sweet, and she smells of sleep and traces of shampoo.

Later, just before Seungwan leaves Sooyoung to finish the rest of her shift, she smiles and says, “I’ll see you later.”

And it sounds like a promise that Sooyoung looks forward to fulfilling.

*

**Post-October:**

Sooyoung dances, if she wants to. It’s like putting on an old, long-unused shirt that’s too small for her; her limbs feel awkward and ungainly, and she feels childish, like a child trying fruitlessly at being an adult. But she buys herself a new pair of pointe shoes, anyway. Tosses out the old pair without much ceremony, one day when Seungwan is still at school.

Seungwan comes home to her breaking in the new shoes. Seungwan says nothing, though she smiles and drops a kiss to the side of Sooyoung’s head as she walks past.

There's a sealed bag of Arabica coffee grounds in the cupboards and a fancy French press in the dish rack. Seungwan's little bottles of shampoo she uses to maintain her perpetually dyed hair line the shower caddy. A wall tapestry is hung in the bedroom to hide the cracks on the plaster, and Sooyoung even (reluctantly) allows the addition of fairy lights Seungwan keeps pestering her about. It makes her bedroom look like a silly, frilly thing, like a teenage fantasy she never took to having. But it also makes Seungwan happy. When she lies there on the mattress, breathless from the effort of hanging up the tapestry she got at a flea market, it's almost like she's swimming in a pool of gold. 

"You like it?" Seungwan asks, when Sooyoung walks into the room with two glasses of cold water.

No self-respecting adult would like that gaudy thing, but Sooyoung takes a good look at her and says, "Yeah."

Of course, the tapestry and fairy lights are the furthest thing from her mind afterward. 

"Sooyoungie," Seungwan breathes. " _Sooyoungie, Sooyoungie, Sooyoungie."_

Sooyoung nips at her chin, an awful and wicked grin on her face. She feels Seungwan's heart knock against her ribs, and carefully, delicately, Sooyoung answers, "Unnie, unnie, unnie."

*

“Seungwan unnie. It better not be in the flat.”

“Um.”

“It’s in the flat.”

“It might be.”

“I told you not to feed it!”

“It just came in, okay! I can’t control how it thinks or what it does!”

“Okay, where is it? It’s not on the bed, is it?”

Seungwan says nothing. She smiles weakly, shrugging.

“For god’s sake, unnie.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll get it out.”

Sooyoung sighs. Pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not ready for this.”

“Ready for what?”

“This. Adopting a living thing together. Taking care of it together. This.”

“Oh, it’s —,” Seungwan blushes, heat rising to her cheeks like some innocent schoolgirl, “it’s really not — never mind. I’ll just get it out, okay.”

“Forget it,” Sooyoung says, catching Seungwan’s wrist, then slipping her fingers downwards until they’re holding Seungwan’s hand. Seungwan twines her fingers immediately with Sooyoung’s in response. “It’s already inside. It’s probably already peeing on everything and marking its territory. You’re just going to get scratched trying.”

Seungwan frowns, not quite catching on. “You’re…letting it stay?”

Sooyoung rolls her eyes. “No, I’m not letting it stay. It’s letting itself stay. Where did you say it came from, again?”

“From the trash bin on the ground floor.”

Sooyoung tampers any irritation down to a resigned sigh. “We’ll need to buy new sheets.”

Seungwan grins, and Sooyoung despises the smug look on Seungwan’s face so much that she does the one thing she knows will stop it — she kisses it right off Seungwan’s face.

(A little later:

“It’s ugly.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“It’s a ‘him’ now?”

“Yes, I didn’t think much changed since you walked in the door, Sooyoung.”

“Has it got fleas?”

“Uh —”

“Get it out. Get it out right now.”)

*

 


End file.
